Aftermath
by kolvina
Summary: The Rebellion didn't fail. But what used to be the ways of the Capitol, rose again from the ashes they were buried in. And the old Panem was back from the dead. To Elle Fintry, it was a rude reawakening. But what more can she do when she's reaped for the 130th Hunger Games?


**Chapter 1: Fears**

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><p><strong>"<strong>We are scared, not because of what might happen,  
>but because of what could <em>never <em>happen.**"** _- unknown_

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><p>I remember my grandmother telling me stories about Panem and the rebellion days. A woman named Katniss was the mockingjay. The face of the rebellion. Evidently, she's one of my distant grandmothers. Maybe the great grandmother, of my great grandmother.<p>

The stories are passed around the family like it has a meaning to _everyone_. Well yes, maybe it does.

And I can't help but to think how much effort Katniss did to save Panem. Only to find out that some of the sons and daughters of the old Capitol Officials had overthrown the government the rebels worked hard to build, and divide the districts again.

Everyone who witnessed the rebel days of Panem had lost all hope in humanity. If this was to continue, would there be another chance at a rebellion?

Most people are expecting so much from our clan. Maybe because we're descendants of the legendary Katniss Everdeen, maybe not. But whatever their reason is, it's completely irrational.

None of us were ever reaped from the games before. And we're planning to let it stay that way.

Since the seventy fifth annual hunger games, the Capitol continued. They passed a new law, stating that both tributes from the same district can win. But it did almost nothing to help district twelve. We haven't brought home a victor since Willow Gorge and Samuel Hawthorne.

According to my grandmother; it was like back in the old days. Twelve suffered from hunger. The brave learned how to live without making irrational decisions.

It's customary for our family to learn how to hunt. Since Katniss started it; we all followed. If it is the only way we can live, then why not?

The Capitol people were expecting another pair of star-crossed lovers being brought into the ring. But they never got one. I think Katniss and Peeta made history.

They were my grandparents in my maternal side. So I took that as an advantage to keep myself under the radar for any rigged slips in the reaping.

I survived each year.

Another advantage of not being able to keep the "Mellark" family name, is the fact that no one in the family paid much attention to me. They knew that I wasn't worth keeping an eye out for. Once again, I'm under the radar.

Sighing, I gripped the knife tighter in my hand. If I don't get a clean shot and get my family a dinner for tonight, I think I'm going to spend the rest of my life completely ashamed of how I can't throw a knife and kill a rabbit.

I focused my attention on the rabbit that's lurking an approximately ten meters away in front of me. I kept myself camouflaged in the leaves by my green clothing. And I made sure to keep my movements steady. _Sorry._ I apologized to the rabbit, whose probably oblivious to the fact that someone's about to throw a knife at him, or her.

But I threw the knife and it hit the rabbit straight in the abdomen.

It's a clean kill.

But I can never make a good imitation of Katniss' clean shot through the eye. Probably because my main weapon is a knife. Even though I'm pretty decent with a bow, I still can't make a clean shot through a good meal's eyes. My father had been disappointed. But I don't mind. As long as I can give them food using my knives, then I'm good.

I take out my knife from the abdomen and I take the rabbit, stuffing it into my messenger bag. I went deeper into the woods to hunt for a squirrel. And as soon as I found one, I didn't hesitate to just throw my knife straight to it.

Wiping the sweat on my forehead, I took the animal and stuffed it into my bag.

After this long day of hunting, I can't wait but to just lie on my bed and wait for the next day to come.

That next day, unfortunately, is the reaping.

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><p>Events from last night made a reappearance in my head as I got ready for the reaping.<p>

"You could have at least shot it in the eye." my father shook his head disapprovingly.

I rolled my eyes as I turned away from the kitchen to go up to my room. "Just because I can't shoot as straight as you, doesn't mean you have to go around making me regret my decision of choosing a knife." I told him.

"If you won the Hunger Games with a knife, then sure, I'll stop making you regret choosing a knife." he spat.

My mother stepped into the kitchen with a concerned look in her eyes.

"Richard, stop."

I looked at my mother and sighed, "No mom. It's fine. It's completely my fault." Then I ran up the stairs to my room and threw knives on the wall behind the tapestry.

I shake my head repeatedly to avoid the thoughts of my family. My father, well he was never proud of having me as a daughter. He grew up related to the Hawthornes, he was a grandchild of Vick Hawthorne. Like the Everdeens and Mellarks, it's necessary for the Hawthornes to learn how to hunt.

My mother laid out a dress with long sleeves that ends just above my elbow. It's made out of fine cloth, something I could never easily recognize. It must have been new, or it's something she inherited. My shoes are flats, designed with a ribbon. It's not that fancy. But it's enough to make me presentable for whatever the hell is in stake for me.

"Faster!" My dad's voice boomed from downstairs.

I bite my tongue, trying to prevent myself from saying any profanities against my father. Instead of trying to raise more arguments between me and my dad, I just slipped onto my pair of ballet flats and skipped down the stairs. Letting my hair bounce behind me in little ringlets.

I waste no time trying to get to the square. Walking briskly in front of my parents, I could tell that they sense my nervousness. I've been unscathed by the reaping for exactly three years. It's pretty obvious that no one wants to go to the arena at the age of fifteen.

Admittedly, I've watched a few Hunger Games from the old days of Panem. I've seen the fiftieth, in which our very own Haymitch Abernathy had won by using one of the Capitol's instruments against his enemy. If only I have the courage to defy the Capitol like that.

There's a part of me wanting to find out if I could really be an instrument of the rebellion. But there's a part of me that keeps screaming 'no'. Maybe because if I did defy the Capitol, it would result in more heat between the Capitol and District twelve.

After all, this district had defied the Capitol too many times.

The first part would be the registration. I lined up and went through registration like I've been in the Hunger Games reaping thousands of times. But of course with the way they take the blood out of our fingers, it still hurts as hell.

I walked to the section filled with fifteen year olds. And I don't know much of them. Just by their names and faces as I walk by the most of them during school.

No one could easily remember my name. Some may recognize me, but not much. I prefer solitary confinement to the library, or somewhere no one could bother me. My personal space is treasured and protected as much as I would have protected my Hunger Games winnings. That is if I did win and go to the Hunger Games.

But as of now, that remains a nightmare to me.

The district escort, Pianina Amethyst tapped the microphone gently before playing the video. For these Hunger Games- the late ones, according to the elders- there's no treaty of treason to be read. No speech to be given. Just the video played for about a hundred years, and then the reaping.

I waited impatiently for the video to end. Knowing that I might get myself out of this unscathed is easy enough to predict. But I should never raise my expectations. For all I know, it could only disappoint me and lead me to my early death.

"For the ladies." She spoke gently to the microphone.

From my recent observations, Pianina is a new escort. She's new to all this. I can still hear the shakiness of her voice. But I never paid more attention to her. Just a simple observation would do.

"Elle Fintry." She called out.

My breath hitched and I could feel the lump forming inside my throat. My eyes are almost blurry from the tears that are beginning to form.

I'm reaped for the Hunger Games.

I stay planted from where I stand. Hoping that some girl would willingly volunteer to earn herself some fame and money. But no one did. They stared at me like I'm some pig being prepared for slaughter. And ironically, _I am. _

The pig's fate was so much better than mine.

Peacekeepers had to drag me out of the fifteen year old girls' section before I regained my senses and shakily walked up the stage. As soon as I did, the mayor gave me a sympathetic look, as well as Pianina. But there was nothing I could do.

"For the boys." She continued and reached out into the fish bowl, pulling out a slip of paper.

"Tyrone Davis."

I know him. Unfortunately.

He is a year above me. And a lot of girls are swooning over him. I don't know what quality they found special about him. But to me, he is just as plain as each and every one of us.

I'd be impressed if he can shoot a squirrel straight in the eye. Or maybe throw knives and get them through the most crucial parts of the animal he's hunting.

But I've never seen him in the woods. So it's safe to say that he never hunts.

We shake hands like the reaped tributes always do. But there was something in the way we shook hands that I can't quite put my finger on. But I shoved the thought at the back of my mind.

There is no way I'm going to keep my thoughts occupied by some merchant boy while I'm in the brink of death.

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><p>We were escorted inside the Justice Building to say our goodbyes to anyone who wish to see us. I was overwhelmed when my cousin emerged from the door. I immediately wrapped my arms around her slim body.<p>

"Promise me you'll get home safe, alright?" she said it like it was a huge favor to ask of me.

"I can't promise you that-"

She cut me off, "I've seen you hunt, Elle. You can do better than anyone else. You can throw knives even at long distances. Heck you can even take out a tribute who's twenty meters away from you."

"You speak with so much confidence in me." I muttered as negativity makes it's way into my head.

"It's because I _am _confident in you, bringing yourself home. Maybe even Tyrone."

"I'll try my best."

That was all the conversation we had before she was pulled out, to be replaced by my parents.

I pulled my mom into a tight hug. I've never showed my mother enough love to last a year. So maybe, just maybe, if I do this then it'll be enough for her to know that if I ever die in that arena, she'll always be my mom.

My dad and I looked at each other with discomfort. I dislike him as much as I dislike a lot of people. I hate the way he treated me and my mother.

And being an only child, it probably means that when I die in there, my mom will be left alone with an arrogant bastard for a husband. So I decided that I'd make my dying wish, right here.

"If I die in there, make sure you stop being an arrogant bastard of a father and take care of mom. Do we have an understanding?" I told him. My voice is stern and clear, like I'm speaking to someone with lower ranks than me.

He grimaced, but reluctantly nodded.

"I don't care if she can't supply enough food for the both of you. You mine, and she sells clothes. That's pretty much enough to live by. Now if I do win, I want you to stop treating me more like your daughter, and not some puppy you're trying to teach tricks." Only by then had I realized that my voice rose a few decibels louder than it should have.

I was almost yelling at my father. I was yelling at the man who provided the completing cell for me to grow.

But right now, I don't care. He is nowhere near being called a father figure. A father figure is someone who you could completely rely on when you find yourself in deep trouble. A father figure is someone who will accept you for what you are and what you are capable of.

Our relationship is beyond strained. And I am not soft enough to mend it with him.

Then they exited the room with sunken looks on their faces.

If I am to die in this arena, then I have to make sure that there is something worth dying for. Not just to stay alive. But something else more than that.

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><p><strong>Le notes: I'm pretty sure you're getting the thought of where this story is going. But I promise you, it's gonna get better. Stick with me here. Anyways, this is the first chapter of Aftermath and I hope you like it. Reviews are very much appreciated. <strong>


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